Red Pop Fizzes Over
by AshCollector
Summary: Russia can't keep the smile, Russia can't stop the screaming, Russia can't stop the hits, kicks, and punches.


_Quick look at Russia. Drabble, wrote in Spanish class instead of focusing on how to ask where my friend is from. …. By the way it's "De donde eres?" Review please._

…

My smile is ever present. Never shaking never leaving. It is part of my identity and fundamental to my being. Without it I don't know how to act, how to feel, how to exist. They say my grin is creepy, empty, fake, and terrifying. They're right on every count and I couldn't give a damn. My smile makes me, without it I don't know how to function. Without it I'll lose control, lose control and let all the anger out. Like a cap or a lid it keeps it all in. And if it falls off and rolls away (I let it slip away and off my face for just a small amount of time) All the violent thoughts will gush out and take form. They'll manifest and take form into a monster. One that has been abused and hit far too long and just needs to release it all. All the punches, kicks, and hits will fight their way out of me. Beat before it kills me. If I hold the violence in it'll kill me. Rip me apart from the inside out and destroy every last shred of sanity I've managed to salvage from the torn and tattered fragments of me.

I believe without a doubt if I don't abuse someone when the urge wells up and the need is unable to be fought against I'll die. I will bang my fists against the walls until they're bloody and bruised. And when the plaster refuses to crumble I will beat myself. Flesh is a lot easier to break than brick and cement. The goddamn walls taunt me. I hate them for being so strong. I hate them for always watching, always seeming to look at me and judge. It's as if they're screaming at me. The shouts, yells, cries, I want them to shut up. I'll cover my ears to try and block out the noise that isn't really there and when that won't work I'll beat my head in. Punch, kick, hit myself into unconsciousness to make the walls shut up. Maybe when (If. Because if you wish for death strongly enough sometimes it can happen. Maybe I can wish myself dead, maybe then the fucking walls will stop closing in on me and the darkness would lighten up a bit) I wake up my smile will be back and I can hold out for a little bit longer.

Or maybe it'll just be gone. The cap to the violence thrown away and the need to punch, kick, hit will gush out and obliterate the world around me. I will kill with my facial expressions flickering between:

A.) Rage, for all the bull shit I have to endure as an elder brother, as country, as Russia or as Ivan a;; the things I done to keep everyone safe. All the people I hurt to keep my own people safe. All my people I hurt and don't have an excuse as to why. Sometimes I can't remember if it's love or obligation. Maybe I'm just a regular masochistic sadist using them as an excuse to get my fill. Fill on what though? Pain? Am I addicted to pain? Inflicting it or enduring it maybe I enjoy it. Scratch that, I do enjoy this.

B.) Sadness, because I'll kill people I love and I won't know why. Just that I needs to, I have to, or I'll die. Die from what, that what the tiny voice of reason that will be snuffed out by then is asking

C.) Apathy, do I even deserve emotions?

Not even a ghost of a smile will tug at my lips. My smile fakes innocence, it fakes happiness. Not well, but enough so I am able to sometimes look into a mirror, and if I squint and turn my head sideways I can almost pretend I am happy. That my grin is genuine and not just something to keep me from killing. Not just a cap waiting burst and destroy. The man staring and smiling at me from the mirror could be saying "There is no reason to hurt anyone. There is no reason for all the punching, kicking, hitting." I think the person below me agrees.

Because my cap had burst but there is someone to catch it. I can't even remember who it is, does it matter? Someone's there to catch the smile as it flies off the bottle. Someone's there to watch the anger fizz out and over, the red pop fly and splash the walls. Or was it blood, my memory keeps fuzzing in and out of focus. Can't breath straight, can't think steadily. Either way someone held onto the cap. And I'm trying to put it back on. My smile won't stay put, it keeps flickering on and off. Between a dead expression to absolute glee. The walls are screaming. They're laughing. They're enjoying it as I paint them red with whoever the hell this is blood. Punch, kick, hit, and don't forget to smile. Say cheese to the camera, Ivan.

_ ….So Who wants to review this weird ass piece? _


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